The Tender Tempest
by Syrianora
Summary: His lips were fatal, his caresses were venomous, and yet she continued to return to his dark abode, desperate to be spared a fleeting glance in her direction. CB Post 2.14. Blair attempts comfort to an unyielding Chuck. Mature.


First CB Fic! I was incredibly inspired after the beautifully tragic 2.14 show, so this fic just kinda wrote itself :) Time period is set a bit after the rooftop scene, and it would do well to take note of the times posted to avoid confusion. No spoilers included as well! Enjoy!

**Title:** The Tender Tempest

**Author:** Syrianora

**Rating:** Mature

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.

**Pairings:** Chuck and Blair, of course :)

_January 10, 2009. 11:38 PM._

One candy apple red stiletto stood proudly by the thick mahogany desk. The other, thrown haphazardly under the dark wood of the bed.

A simple midnight blue cocktail dress was pooled at the foot of the bed, its silken material contrasting greatly with the wide crimson belt laying atop its fibers.

Black undergarments hung loosely on the carved bed post. A silken blue scarf lay draped across the comforter, finally falling atop the black trousers and coat in silent defeat.

A simple candle shone dimly by the dresser, illuminating a soft glow around the two nude figures atop the bed.

Petite hands brushed softly down his arms, finally linking their hands together and grasping tightly. Her dark chocolate waves hung freely down her back, the earlier style marred by his wandering hands. She moved her chest forward, the pale of her breasts meeting the dark hairs of his chest, her legs grasping more tightly around his waist, the soles of her feet digging into his lower back. Her eyes drooped close with a sigh as his lips continued their soft journey across her face. No hungry kisses, just a slight flutter as butterfly wings made their tender trek, pausing slightly at her ruby red lips.

She sensed his quiet hesitation, his torturous uncertainty as his lips hovered a breath away from her own. If she were to utter anything at this moment, her lips would touch his, and she knew he would quickly flinch away from the sensual gesture.

He had made the terms of that condition nearly impossible.

He felt her quiet shudder as his lips were a mere pant away from hers, his own eyes shut in tender conflict. His fingers trailed warmly across her collarbone, down her shaking throat, finally to the valley between her breasts to meet a simple silver ring. He touched the cool metal, tangling his fingers into the silver chain above it, the soft clinking of the chain the only sound in the blissfully silent room.

Other than her pounding heart making its presence known.

With a shaking sigh, she brought her own hand from his bare back and raised it slowly up his chest, enjoying the rough coarseness of his chest hair as it rubbed harshly against her fingers. She met the cool metal of his own identical ring, finally bringing her shaking palm upward to cup his cheek. He shuddered at her touch, hot tears pooling sadly in his dark eyes.

She was too intimate. _Too _close.

Her heart hammered painfully against her chest, her chocolate eyes urgently revealing their color. She felt him slowly begin to pull himself away from her burning gaze, and she nearly cried out in anxiety. She didn't want to feel so lonely, so _cold _anymore. Every morning, she would shudder at the arctic feeling within her heart, and no matter how many layers she seemed to wear, she couldn't seem to be rid of the frosted sensation. Yet, a simple second in his arms, a fleeting touch against her brow, a momentary gaze in her direction, and she would nearly weep at the sudden warmth she felt.

And here, finally, they had connected after agonizing weeks.

It was he who had taken the initiative tonight.

_His_ hands had slowly shed his suit and pooled it at the foot of the bed. _His_ hands had removed the flimsy undergarments she wore below her Valentino midnight original. _His _hands had grasped at her back as she wrapped her legs around his waist tightly and brought her chocolate curls to shield their faces from prying eyes. How could he dare to pull away from her now? What right did he have to relinquish his warmth from her desperate form? Hadn't she given _everything_ to him, only to be returned with his saddened gaze?

What masochism surely brought her here?

She never doubted the masochism that had invaded her life. He was poison; one sip from his drink and she would never be the same again. His lips were fatal, his caresses were venomous, and yet she continued to return to his dark abode, desperate to be spared a _fleeting_ glance in her direction.

Here they were, yet again, deep within the other's embrace, yet heavily guarded by their own pretentious personas.

Twisted as they were, their hearts were twisted with each other.

A desperate core quickly claimed her, and the old Blair Waldorf would have grimaced at her current actions. Her palms quickly wrapped around his neck, urging his perfect features forward. She hovered over his form, her hair wrapping around their nudity effortlessly as her nose tentatively touched his. Her lips stopped a gasp away from his own, fingers tilting his head upward. Just a mere breath away, and she would finally show him the intimacy she so frantically desired…

The bed shifted to accommodate the loss of a weight it rarely withstood anymore.

Her bottom lip quivered, clear liquid filling her dark eyes as she stared ahead. His nude figure hung closely by the windowsill, palms grasping the dark wood tightly, eyes staring ahead into the starry sky, form motionless.

Her mouth opened to utter something, _anything _that would bring his warmth back to her and make her whole once again. A few weeks ago, she would have angrily chastised herself for being so easily manipulated by the New York womanizer. After all, what good use had he made of himself in her life? He had freely destroyed her perfect relationship with Nate. He had publicly humiliated her social status and alienated her best friends from speaking to her again. He constantly flaunted his newest conquest to her disgusted eyes. And more importantly, he had refused to utter those three little words that she had so freely declared in a moment of pure and unadulterated compassion for him. She could still remember the dark and unemotioned gaze he had returned to her in the streets of New York, jaw tight and eyes locked.

_"Well, that's too bad."_

And yet, at that moment, she would have given _anything_ to feel his strong arms envelop her shaking form. A smarmy comment. A heinous glance in her direction. The Chuck Bass smirk.

_Any_ sort of human indication or emotion.

She felt silent tears make their way down her cheekbones, and she took a quivering breath, careful to keep her eyes trained on the silken sheets as she crawled into the covers. She would not allow her eyes to stray to his form near the window. Her hands, which had freely rested on his back moments earlier, fisted the covers tightly in resignation as she attempted to find some warmth. Finally, with a shaking sigh, her lids drooped closed as she fell into a remembrance of that encounter that had brought them here.

_January 10, 2009. 11:07 PM_

He took a final swig of his scotch, sliding the emptied glass towards the last bartender of the night. The bartender quickly refilled the glass with the dark liquid, his eyes not meeting his final customer as he returned the glass to the sole occupant of the bar. Some days, Ted truly abhorred his bartending job. He was constantly left with a dulling ache at the wasted time many visitors made of their lives as anger and sorrow were drowned in endless and unsatisfactory booze. Chuck Bass was no exception.

Sure, he had heard of the boy's recent loss, the death of the infamous Bart Bass printed loudly in every newspaper in New York. In fact, the bartender was a bit nostalgic at the boy's wasted potential as he constantly drank his nights away in the familiar bar. It wasn't as if Ted didn't mind the one hundred dollar tips left quietly in the early hours of the morning. And Chuck was a quiet drunk, so he never felt obligated to strike a conversation with the poor lad. Rather, he truly felt compassion for Chuck and his many misdealings. But it certainly couldn't be his place to voice his true opinion.

So, he would continue to serve the underage drinker, and Chuck would continue to drown in his own demons.

No one had ever said life was easy.

Chuck looked up at the bartender, who seemed to be deep in thought, and rolled his eyes silently. Ted had been his constant companion for the past couple of weeks in the bar, and his facial expressions never seemed to change or offer vague interest. He was getting tired of the contemplative Ted and his reflective ways.

His eyes landed on the ring left by his glass on the smooth wooden surface. His thumb absently traced its outer edges until the ring was simply a misshapen blob of water. Lifting the glass to his lips, the amber liquid trailed downward as he continuously thirsted for more, unfeeling of the scorching burn he vaguely remembered. Bringing the cool glass to his forehead, his eyelids drooped with a close as he took deep breaths to calm his waging desire for drink.

A soft bell indicated the meaningless entrance of another occupant.

Chuck would have made a characteristic gesture to Ted, who would have quickly responded by ushering out the newest guest, as he had done many times before. Ted knew Chuck's normal business hours here in the bar, and he had quickly learned the monetary value of leaving the bar for a sole Chuck. No words were exchanged; just a simple wave and Ted would quickly remove the newest customer from the premises.

How pitiful that Chuck had developed the deepest connection as of late with his attending bartender.

However, before he could offer Ted the gesture, a gentle waft danced slowly in the air as it made its way to Chuck. He inhaled deeply, quickly recognizing a familiar scent that would have sent him at her beck and call months earlier. Now, however, he remained in his seat, the glass of scotch pressed even tighter against his forehead for coolness. The bar had suddenly gotten even stuffier.

He felt her arms wrap around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder as he made no move. "Serena missed you today, Chuck."

He kept his eyes closed, refusing to meet her gaze in fear of quickly destroying the control he had managed in the past couple of weeks. He had continually avoided her presence in a sense to sustain his true nature: the nature that his father always predicted would consume him.

"What can I say?" he murmured, words airy. "That's not my scene anymore." In fact, he could clearly remember ripping Serena's birthday invitation in his hotel room weeks earlier and tossing the golden envelope into the fire, watching the crisp material burn wildly under his heated gaze.

He felt her arms loosen around him, and the smaller and more traitorous part of him yearned for her arms to grasp him more tightly than before. "You need to be around people that _care _about you, Chuck. This isn't something you can face alone."

He scoffed lightly, though he was certain she had heard his response. "Don't even pretend like you think those… people truly care about me."

She stiffened in response. A few moments of silence passed between them, each contemplating their conversation. Then, her fingers had trailed up his arm and grasped the glass tightly, pulling it out of his desperate clutch and setting it on the wood before her. In the earlier days, he would have harshly grabbed it back or poured himself a new one just to spite her.

But time had suggested that it wasn't the earlier days anymore.

Now, he was simply so tired that his eyelids were kept closed and his hand kept its position in the air.

She swirled his chair around so quickly that he opened his eyes to notice his new change of scenery. Instead, his eyes met ruby red lips and trailed upward to meet chocolate orbs that stared warmly back at him. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, the dark curls falling a few inches above her waist. His eyes recognized a midnight blue dress, but he couldn't tear them away from the angel facing before him, so he couldn't possibly be sure. Instead, his hands found their way in her chocolate curls and lost themselves lovingly.

"Do you really care about me, Blair?"

Her red lips parted slightly, brown eyes dark and intricate as she stared into his soulless black orbs. She nodded slowly and sat herself down so that she was straddling this wrecked soul before her.

"I don't think you realize…" he started, eyes kept on hers, "how truly destroyed I've become."

Her bottom lip quivered slightly, and his thumb pressed over it lightly, trailing the intricate shape as he concentrated completely on her bottom lip.

"I can't… _feel _anything anymore," he murmured, keeping his eyes trained on her lip. "The taste of food… the burn of scotch… the warmth of touch…"

Clear tears washed over his thumbs freely and sadly. His eyes lifted upwards to meet her wet ones, and he offered a small smirk, speaking slowly. "Guess that's what happens to every Bass, eh? We vanish in the cloud of smoke around us."

She sniffled softly, warm palms shakingly resting on his cheeks. She studied his perfect features, attempting to smile at the irony of it all. How could his features be so perfect, so _wonderfully_ aligned when his own soul was so imperfectly wretched before her?

Her dress had risen upward to bring her thighs into view, and he rested each palm atop the creamy skin, fingers dangerously close to the hem of her dress.

"I don't… _not _want to feel anymore," he murmured sadly. "Will you help me feel again?"

His words were so childlike, so innocent in its intensity that she shifted her eyes to meet the delicate silver chain hanging dutifully around his neck. With tired eyes, she fingered the chain, pulling out the silver ring she had presented to him weeks earlier. It sent a wave of satisfaction through her to realize he had decided to wear it so close to his heart. On any other occasion, she would have smirked with glee to taunt him for wearing the chain. However, so much had happened since those simpler times, and she simply felt too tired to make its presence known.

Her eyes rose to meet his empty orbs, and her voice was calm and clear, recalling the words he had spoken to her in what seemed millenniums ago.

When they were simply children undertaking in childish things in a world too cruel to awaken them from their ridiculous fantasies.

"For you, anything."

_January 10, 2009. 11:56 PM._

A cool body slid behind her, arms wrapping around her slim form in silence. She felt clear tears press anxiously against her back, which prompted her own tears to fall in quiet response.

He murmured words of apologies repeatedly, clutching her form more tightly to his until she couldn't keep her cries to herself. Turning to face him, her fingers traced his cheekbones, legs forcefully tangling with his. The tender action that he had desperately avoided for weeks was an action he could not protest, as the soft ministrations were quickly lulling him to sleep. His eyes were slowly closing, lips murmuring words of apologies that he was sure he would regret in the morning. When his lips were still, she placed a soft kiss on his right eye, feeling his wet lashes. She would provide such an intimate gesture only when he was asleep.

Then, she rested her head below his chin, arms wrapping around him lovingly, her nose tickling with the feel of his chest hair. A small yawn escaped her mouth; she was so very tired, so very warm resting here with her poison.

She knew she would awake to find him gone in the morning, no trace of his presence left to taunt her. She knew he would deny such an encounter when he was sober and unwilling to claim adoration. She knew her heart would physically ache when he would consistently leave her until he was prepared to face his demons.

Yet she remained, tangled in his arms, in the roots of deceit, for the time she had been graciously given.

In the morning, she woke to find a simple blue scarf resting in his place, and she absently brought the silken material to her nose.

Scotch and cigarettes.

Thanks for reading! I was thinking of a companion piece to continue, but are people interested? And of course, feedback is adored :)


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